Today’s reading is Psalm 24, which in traditional versions offers the wonderful image of “Lift up your heads, O mighty gates.” It seemed to me a fittingly glorious way to encapsulate the message of Easter.

As Easter joy fills our hearts, may we find resilience through compassion in the face of suffering. Let us, too, lift up our heads!

This week’s passage:

Psalm 24

The whole Earth yearns for the Beloved,
all living beings in the world.
For the Beloved formed our Earth
from the surging realm of life,
and made our home secure
amid powerful spirit-realms.

Who shall rise to knowledge of the Beloved?
And who shall stand firm in the place of healing,
where spirit shall once more be wed to matter?
Those whose hands are pledged to do good
out of a heart cleansed of error,
who have dropped addictive defenses
and devoted themselves to honesty.

They will be blessed by encounter with the Beloved
and set right by the saving power of Love.
Such a community of seekers
will find what they long for:
union with the Heart of Hearts.

Lift up your heads, as the gates open wide,
as ancient protective patterns dissolve,
for a glorious Being approaches.
Who is this glorious Being?
The Beloved, strong in compassion,
the Beloved, mighty in caring for us!

O, open your hearts, change your minds,
allow old habits to fall away,
for a glorious Presence approaches.
Who is this glorious Presence?
The Beloved, uniting humanity
with the glory and power of Love!

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Please take space for your own practice of Sacred Reading.

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Additional commentary from me seems superfluous, but I want to express my gratitude for the chance to share this journey with you. Although initially I had intended to continue this series through up to Pentecost, I’ve decided to draw it to a close here. In the next weeks, maybe you would like to look into the next couple of psalms - 25 and 26 - and see what resonances they hold for you. Perhaps you will find creative ways to work with them. I hope you will consider sharing any thoughts or experiences.

I will stay in touch through the monthly newsletter, invitations to online meetings, and most likely, another Sacred Reading Week in the summer. If you have any other wishes or suggestions, please let me know.

Here is the final reading of Holy Week, with some thoughts from me below.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

Nothing but goodness and kindness
can pursue me through my life
when I turn to You, Beloved,
every single day.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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At the beginning of this week, I went on a walk through the Gotteron Valley near Fribourg — in legend home to a dragon, in later times a source of steam power for mills, now a well-loved scenic hiking route. For more than an hour I walked through the steep sided gorge, unable to see anything beyond the cliffs at either side, hearing only the rushing water and chattering birds. The landscape at the top was invisible to me, nor did I know exactly how I’d get out of this crevasse.

At last, after scrambling up and down a number of ladders, over bridges, and along ravines, the last steep climb led me up and out into a wide, green pastureland, completely different from the territory I’d been journeying through for so long. And after I’d walked a few steps away, when I looked back there was no sign of the deep hole I’d been in. It could have been just a dip in the ground.

I thought how often it’s like this in life: we forget that the hole we are in now does have an outlet, that someday we will come out into a place of peace and nourishment. And likewise, when we are out, we’re tempted to forget the struggle and simply hope we never have to go through that again. Or we don’t recognize that someone else is journeying through a different landscape than our own, nor how that might affect their behavior and reactions.

But all landscapes are known to the Shepherd who guides us through every kind of polarity: day and night, up and down, rough and smooth, easy and difficult. When we remember that guidance, as this psalm instructs us, it can become a daily source of comfort and strength. This week has been a chance to remember, as the greatest possible challenge approaches.

What insights has this week brought for you? Tomorrow, I’ll be offering one final reading, and sharing some news about the future.

During Holy Week, each day I will send a short passage drawn from my own version of Psalm 23, without additional commentary. On Saturday, I’ll be back with some reflections on the whole sequence.

Please use these for reading, reflecting, responding and resting, in whatever way works best for you, and as always, I would love to hear your thoughts, whether via message, chat, or in the comments.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

My hard, dry thoughts start to flow,
like oil moistening my head.
The cup of my heart runs over,
bubbling with joy.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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During Holy Week, each day I will send a short passage drawn from my own version of Psalm 23, without additional commentary. On Saturday, I’ll be back with some reflections on the whole sequence. Please use these for reading, reflecting, responding and resting, in whatever way works best for you, and as always, I would love to hear your thoughts, whether via message, chat, or in the comments.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

You prepare a table for our love-feast
even as Love’s enemies look on.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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During Holy Week, each day I will send a short passage drawn from my own version of Psalm 23, without additional commentary. On Saturday, I’ll be back with some reflections on the whole sequence. Please use these for reading, reflecting, responding and resting, in whatever way works best for you, and as always, I would love to hear your thoughts, whether via message, chat, or in the comments.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

You lead me into the rightful way
of union with Your being.
When I must walk through deep, dark valleys,
I fear no harm, for You are with me.
Your strong, upright guidance
is my comfort and support.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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During Holy Week, each day I will send a short passage drawn from my own version of Psalm 23, without additional commentary. On Saturday, I’ll be back with some reflections on the whole sequence. Please use these for reading, reflecting, responding and resting, in whatever way works best for you, and as always, I would love to hear your thoughts, whether via message, chat, or in the comments.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

Here, living nourishment springs up
as you watch out for danger.
The still waters of contemplation
restore my exhausted life.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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During Holy Week, each day I will send a short passage drawn from my own version of Psalm 23, without additional commentary. On Saturday, I’ll be back with some reflections on the whole sequence. Please use these for reading, reflecting, responding and resting, in whatever way works best for you, and as always, I would love to hear your thoughts, whether via message, chat, or in the comments.

Today’s passage:

From Psalm 23

O my Beloved, how well You care for me!
My needs are fully met by You.
With you as my shepherd, I can relax;
my soul expands in a wide, green place.

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Please take space for your practice of Sacred Reading.

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This week’s passage:

From Psalm 22

In time, the whole world will remember
and turn to the Beloved.
The entire human family
will recognize in You
their heart’s deepest desire.
For the Beloved knows all our needs,
and leads us like a good shepherd.
Devotion to Love is the best nourishment.

We will bow down to Love as we pass through death,
and stay awake, bringing light into darkness.
Our future selves will serve the Beloved,
growing and learning through many incarnations.

A new Love-born humanity
will proclaim how their birth was accomplished.
The Beloved’s deed shall resound
throughout the universe.

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Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

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The psalm that began with a lament over feeling abandoned by God ends with a song of praise and thanksgiving that extends to fill the whole world. It seemed fitting to me to place this on Palm Sunday, when Christ entered into Jerusalem and was acclaimed by all observers, as if humanity had recognized the bearer of their archetype and were prepared to follow him into the realm of Wholeness.

But it turned out the joy was premature. People were not actually ready for that great step forward in evolution. Though the psalm gives a prophetic picture of what can still come about — the birth of a new humanity that no longer lives in a fractured, disjointed state — there needs to be an unveiling of the underlying dysfunction first. And that is to come through the events of Holy Week.

Jesus’s cry from the cross — “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” (Mark 15:34, Matthew 27:46) is often interpreted as proving that even he could be overwhelmed by despair. But both Jesus and the writers of the Gospels would have known this outcry was only the beginning of a journey toward restoration and hope. Yes, we must honestly face the feelings of loss and emptiness, but when we do, they mysteriously become a doorway into new life. More and more I think that is the only story the Bible has to tell us, whether it extends over centuries or a single week.

This week’s passage:

From Psalm 22

As from horns of wild oxen, You have saved me!
I will spread the news of Your saving power,
In the midst of my community, I praise You.
All who yearn toward the Beloved, sing praise!
You struggling, suffering human beings,
take glory in the power of Love!
Know how truly great it is,
all people of the Earth!
For the Beloved does not despise
the weakness of the needy,
and will never truly abandon us,
but hears us when we cry.

My song of praise is to You;
I sing it in the hearing of all.
I dedicate myself to Your service,
as do all who know and revere You.
Thus the needy find themselves satisfied;
the seekers of Love praise the Beloved.
So endless life takes hold in our hearts.

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Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

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What is the purpose of repentance, of penitential seasons like the weeks leading up to Easter? Using them to bash ourselves for having made mistakes or done bad and hurtful things is not actually an effective response to wrongdoing. That generally only leads to more hurt and fragmentation, not to positive integration. I find it more helpful to think in terms of making space to shed our shame-driven, culturally encouraged mandate to keep our faults and weaknesses safely hidden and under control. Instead, while acknowledging those weak points, we can open up to a greater healing power that holds us in love while we reorganize our habitual ways of thinking and acting.

Such a process might require a period of outer inactivity or apparent dysfunction, where we can make a transition from the old ways to the new. Seldom can we instantly flip from one state to another; we are usually called to endure a time when the old ways don’t work anymore, but the new ones are not yet in place. When we follow a liturgical calendar or a rhythm of prayer that builds in times of slowing down and making space for the change of heart and mind, it can help us to consciously navigate that aspect of the spiritual life.

In this passage, the psalmist has come through such a difficult time of transition and become aware of the presence of Love as a saving power. A new light already starts to dawn, out of the honest confrontation with darkness, and a new song emerges. Praise overflows into song, into the desire to share the truth, beauty, and goodness one has encountered with the world. Following the initial cry of feeling lost and forgotten, it is a remarkable transformation.

This week’s passage:

From Psalm 22

Here, untamed forces circle;
the potential for evil threatens.
My will to do good is injured,
My vulnerable core laid bare,
my defensive sheaths all torn away.
My life and soul are subject
to cold and loveless calculation.

But You, O Beloved, come near!
Like a midwife, hasten to help this birth!
Deliver my living soul from danger,
my singular I from hostile forces.
Rescue me from the lion’s mouth!

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Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

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The line that stood out for me this time was “My vulnerable core laid bare.” An image came to me of a peeled stick, all its tough bark stripped away, only a soft, pale inner core left. Then that shifted to the image of a snake or dragon that has shed its skin and is tender and defenseless — like the dragon Prince Lindworm in the Scandinavian fairy tale. His wife has to courageously convince him to bare his core, removing seven skins, in order to save both him and herself.

We grow these tough skins to protect ourselves at various stages of life, but they prevent us from growing further. They must be shed, leaving us naked and vulnerable. Spiritual growth involves an awareness that our nakedness is embraced and nourished by compassion — in the fairy tale, the enchanted prince has to bathe in milk before his spell is fully broken, a baptism of sorts.

Thinking about this image, imagining hardened defenses falling away to expose a soft inner core, then bathing in restorative waters, became my response to the reading, and led naturally into the time of rest. It was a strong experience that I can call on for future cycles of sacred reading, leading me into the heart of transformative silence.

As we work through a series of the Psalms during this Lent and Easter season, I encourage you to engage with the process of Sacred Reading in your own time and space. You might want to consult the Sacred Reading podcast if you need some guidance through the process.

Here is this week’s passage:

From Psalm 22

You, Beloved, drew me from the womb.
My trust in You began at my mother’s breast.
On Your mercy was I thrown from my birth;
since I left my mother’s belly,
You have been my guide.
Do not retreat from me now,
for I am in another narrow place,
and no one else can help me through.

Strong forces, like great bulls, swirl around me;
mighty birth-tremors surround me.
A mouth seems to open wide,
like the roar of a hungry lion.
All my own strength has drained away,
my structure has fallen apart.
My heart is melting like wax,
my innards are dissolving.
I am as dry as a broken shard of clay,
my tongue cleaves to my jaw.
In Your absence, I lie
as if dead in the dust.

Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

The latter part of this reading reminds me of various times when I’ve felt pushed to my limits. I have felt as if sucked into a devouring abyss or surrounded by overwhelming forces. I’ve known the fear of on the one hand dissolving and melting, and on the other being dried out, lifeless as dust.

The inner birth process is becoming intense, even dangerous. But even as I enter into that narrow place, the psalmist challenges me to remember the times when I have been supported and led forward through trials and dangers. I have already survived my physical birth, making the transition into this world from the heavenly world of my origins. Hasn’t a Helper has been with me all along, and can I call that to mind as danger looms?

When I cannot sense that help at all, when the fear rises that this time I will be abandoned, then I have come to a low point in my journey. Where will it go from here?

As we work through a series of the Psalms during this Lent and Easter season, I encourage you to engage with the process of Sacred Reading in your own time and space. You might want to consult the Sacred Reading podcast if you need some guidance through the process.

Here is this week’s passage:

From Psalm 22

You, all-permeating Wholeness,
praised in the songs of my people,
in You my ancestors trusted.
They trusted in You, and You set them free.
They cried to You, and were released;
their trust was not in vain.

Now, I am left naked by Your withdrawal;
I feel like a worm, not a human being.
I lack protective skin; others seem to mock me,
pursing their lips and shaking their heads.
But I know — all who turn to the Beloved will live,
set free by the One who takes delight in us.

Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

So much is contained in this short passage. There is a present experience of feeling helpless, mocked and laughed at by others, stripped of all protection, including the divine presence. But the psalmist also recalls how divine love has brought his people through times of trouble in the past, and grounds himself in assurance that he can reconnect with that source of love and life in the future. A frightening transition, where the old ways have passed but the new ones are not yet in place, is negotiated through awareness of the true ground of our being, which will not let us fall to destruction.

In my reworking of the psalms, I gave each a title, and I called this one “A New Birth.” Every initiatory journey is a birth process, which requires courage and strength to negotiate. When we don’t know what is happening, fear overwhelms us, swamping the conscious awareness that must grow if we are to become spiritually mature. This psalm is a wisdom text that can bring us imaginatively through an experience of death and rebirth, preparing us for what will inevitably meet us in the course of destiny.

The withdrawal of God, terrifying as it is, presents the opportunity for us to arise as individual selves and return in freedom to our Creator. Left naked as a newborn child, we will be re-clothed in love and blessing. Trust in that reality, seeing it as the truth of our past and the promise of our future, gives strength and endurance for the challenge.

As we work through a series of the Psalms during this Lent and Easter season, I encourage you to engage with the process of Sacred Reading in your own time and space. You might want to consult the Sacred Reading podcast if you need some guidance through the process.

Each week I’ll send a passage for reflection, coming from a version of the Psalms that I’ve been putting into my own words, my way of going deeper into this ancient texts and making them my own — though mine is certainly not the only way! This is just a suggestion that arises from my personal practice.

Below the passage, I’ll share some thoughts, again out of my own practice, but I encourage you to do your own pondering before reading those. If you’re willing, please share some thoughts in the comments. I would love to know what you think of this work.

Here is the first excerpt:

from Psalm 22

All-embracing Love, Source of my being,
Why do I feel You’ve abandoned me?
Why has Your saving power retreated
and left me roaring in anguish?
O my Beloved, I cry out by day,
longing for an answer that never comes.
All night long I cry again,
unable to rest in the stillness.

Please take space for your own reflections before reading mine.

The phrase that stood out to me was “longing for an answer.” I could immediately and viscerally feel how dreadful it is when I am waiting for somebody I care for to respond to me, and the answer never comes. It feels like a plug has been pulled in my guts and all my forces are draining away. Or I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, and gravity is drawing me over the edge.

I found it was hard for me to simply sit with this feeling and acknowledge it. I wanted to “pray it away,” telling myself I know Divine Love will never abandon me and that my feeling is an illusion.

But sometimes knowing the truth does not help. I just feel abandoned.

When I am able to allow that feeling to be there, a tender sensation can develop alongside it. A willingness to be the caregiver that lonely, needy part of me is crying out for.

Actually putting a hand on the part of my body where I feel the sensation most strongly can help, too. Touch conveys a powerful message of care and presence. And in that touch-experience, a different kind of knowledge starts to grow, leading me to the assurance that God, who is Love, is always with me.

Today begins the season of Lent, the period of preparation for the great transformation of Easter in Christian tradition. In considering how to shape this journey in terms of our practice of sacred reading, I decided to share a project I’ve been working on for some time. Living with some of the psalms and reworking their sometimes puzzling, archaic language has been very illuminating for me, and I am excited to see how it lands with others.

Each Sunday, until the Easter season ends at Pentecost (May 24), I’ll be sending a segment of my version of one of the psalms, along with some brief reflections from me, and an invitation to your own inner engagement with the passage.

A special set of psalms, traditionally grouped together, seemed to me to particularly speak to this time and its movement from grief to hope. Here is the sequence:

• Lent - Psalm 22

• Holy Week (daily) - Psalm 23

• Easter Sunday - Psalm 24

• Easter Season - Psalm 25

If you’d like a taste of the journey to come, our next Zoom meeting will take place this Saturday, February 21, at 4 pm Central European Time (please convert for your time zone). We’ll go through the Sacred Reading practice together with the first text segment, and I can answer any questions you may have. I hope you can make it - look for the link to land in your inbox shortly before the meeting.

Future meetings are to be announced — there will be at least one in March, and one or more during Holy Week, the week leading up to Easter (March 29 to April 5).

All are warmly welcome, whatever your faith tradition. And if you know anyone else you think might be interested in the project, please feel free to share this post.

• Go over the posts from previous weeks, and engage in Sacred Reading in whatever way works best for you.

• Plan ahead for Christmas, perhaps scheduling in time for you to live with readings related to the Nativity.

• Look into sacred art as a basis for contemplation. As I found when I started looking for images of the resurrection stories, there are many wonderful lesser-known artworks to be found, as well as more familiar ones. Here’s one of my favorites, Botticelli’s Mystic Nativity from the National Gallery in London:

• And I hope you’ll answer the survey I sent in the last email - a chance to share your feedback, as well as express interest in a possible creative workshop.

I’ll be taking a break from posting to the Sacred Reading Substack for the next week or so, but I intend to be back in the final days of December with another podcast episode, as well as a look ahead to next year. I wish you all a blessed time of peace and joy, and thank you for being part of this circle.

This is also a story of death and resurrection, I realized. Over the course of three nights, Scrooge is shown a time-spanning vision that embraces past, present, and future. As he stands before his own grave, he asks the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come, “Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?” The Spirit does not answer, only points inexorably toward the stone.

Scrooge prays urgently that he might be permitted to “change these shadows … by an altered life.” And when he awakens, he discovers that his “three-day” journey has taken no time in the outer world, yet inwardly he has been utterly transformed. In touch again with his own vulnerable child-self, laughter filling his heart, he finds peace within himself and becomes a blessing to others.

Is Lazarus, too, confronting Scrooge’s choice: Change, or die? Does he spend his three days in the tomb contemplating the shadows of past, present, and future, and resolving to take a new path? As his sisters say, “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died.” They, too, are imagining an alternate future, one that will come to light when Lazarus answers the call of his Lord.

Though the distance between them had seemed unbridgeable, the shadow of death inexorable, it turns out to be the catalyst for a new awakening. All of us must make the choice to stop seeing bare survival as enough, and make the leap into true life. When we do, divine grace comes to meet us, as Dickens concludes in his fable — “God bless us, every one!”

I wish you all grace in this season, and hope our study has been a blessing for you, as it has for me. I look forward to seeing some of you at our third Advent meeting on Saturday, and to sharing plans for the future with you. Till then…

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I have kept to my intention of reading a segment of the full story each day, but some days I don’t have time for much reflection and prayer. Nevertheless, taking in the words and pondering them for any length of time feels like a seed-force that could bear fruit later.

If the whole story seems too much, and you feel the need to focus on a smaller section during this week, though, please do so.

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For me, the second reading section this week brought up an interesting connection to our discussion last Saturday, about the story of the bleeding woman and dying girl. We had been talking about the number twelve, as the woman has been bleeding for twelve years, and in some versions it’s noted that the girl is twelve years old. We wondered whether this had to do with the cycle of time. The woman — acting outside, in the light — and the girl — immobile, indoors, in darkness — seemed to picture something of the contrast of day and night. These great opposites were bridged and brought together through Jesus’s healing deed.

Then, in the story of Lazarus, I read:

“Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if anyone walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.”

Jesus has already said that the death of Lazarus has a purpose: the light-revelation of God, through a human “I.” How do we learn to walk in the night, with inner light? How do we balance the extremes in ourselves? The healing of the woman and the girl, I believe, goes through a further development here. I will keep pondering it day by day, looking for my own light in the darkness.

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I hope you, too, are finding a path of discovery through this week, in your own way. Please share some of your thoughts in the comments, if you like.

And all are warmly invited to our next meeting, Saturday, December 20 at 4 pm CET (Zurich) - be sure to convert for your time zone.

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This is a very long and detailed story, told in Chapter 11, verses 1 to 44. I have divided it into seven parts, and you may want to focus on one section per day during the week. As you work with the steps of reading, reflecting, responding, and resting, or with any method of your own discovery, does this story awaken new life in you?

PART I Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment and wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent to him, saying, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it he said, “This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”

PART II Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now seeking to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours in the day? If anyone walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he sees the light of this world. But if anyone walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.”

PART III After saying these things, he said to them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will recover.” Now Jesus had spoken of his death, but they thought that he meant taking rest in sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” So Thomas, called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

PART IV Now when Jesus came, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Bethany was near Jerusalem, about two miles off, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them concerning their brother. So when Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, but Mary remained seated in the house. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”

PART V When she had said this, she went and called her sister Mary, saying in private, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she rose quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come into the village, but was still in the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary rise quickly and go out, they followed her, supposing that she was going to the tomb to weep there. Now when Mary came to where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet, saying to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

PART VI When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in his spirit and greatly troubled. And he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man also have kept this man from dying?” Then Jesus, deeply moved again, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone lay against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, by this time there will be an odor, for he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”

PART VII So they took away the stone. And Jesus lifted up his eyes and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said these things, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” The man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

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During this week, you’ll once more receive a few emails from me. I welcome your comments and questions, and I look forward to seeing some of you for our meeting next Saturday, December 20 at 4 pm CET (Zurich) - please convert for your time zone.

• A synagogue leader came in and knelt before him

• He said, “Come and put your hand on her”

• Jesus got up and went

• A woman came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak

• She thought, “If I only touch his cloak…”

• Jesus turned and saw her

• Jesus entered the house and saw the noisy crowd and people playing pipes

• The crowd was put outside

• He went in and took the girl by the hand and she got up

In my journal I made a little sketch of these movements — please notice how rudimentary such drawings can be!

I thought about how both healings happened in the imagination before they took place in reality. The synagogue leader and the bleeding woman both pictured the healing movement inwardly before it happened outwardly. Though they could not do on their own what they longed to see happen, they moved toward the divine Other who could help fill in what they lacked.

At the very center of the story is Jesus turning and seeing or perceiving the woman. How does imagination turn into reality? In healing terms, it happens when two parts that were previously disconnected come together, a dynamic process of re-alignment. “Your faith has healed you,” Jesus tells the woman. But not faith alone; she had to take a step of courage, moved by her trust in the Wholeness.

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As I keep pondering this story, I continue to be inspired by its many-layered wisdom. What have you discovered so far this week? Your comments are always welcome. And I hope some of you can join our meeting tomorrow, Saturday, December 13 at 7 pm CET (Zurich) - please convert for your time zone.

Often, some image in a story simply strikes me as perfect counterpart for some situation in my own life. Today, as I was reading and pondering the story of the bleeding woman and the dying girl, I had the thought, “There are so many things I want to do, but I never get any of them completed.” Just like the woman whose life force is pouring out to no purpose, and the girl who has lost the power to live at all. I felt split between polar opposites, and needed to find the middle, the mediating realm between.

I journaled about my thoughts and a spontaneous prayer arose:

Christ, help me!* Balance these extremes, bring me together with myself and with you. Close the wound that opened up at the Fall, restore the life I lost when my innocence died. Bring me in from the margins and out from my inner room. Show me the way!

*I include Christian language as an example of my own practice. Others may use different language.

I don’t expect any immediate answer to my cry, but after many cycles of forming such responses and letting them go into silence, I trust that at some point a development will occur. There will be an opportunity to fulfil my desires, if I can stay awake, noticing subtle shifts and nudges, having the courage to try something new. Life will show me the way.

That’s what working with the text means for me. How would you describe it?

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